Headache
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: This is Sherlock Holmes, and he has a headache. ((Just a short one-shot for my dear friend daisherz365, aka sincerelydayyy, because she's been suffering from a migraine all day. which sucks.))


So, this little bitty fic is dedicated to my dear Day, who's not feeling right as rain at the moment. Love you, dear!

**Oh...And I don't own anything! Drat!**

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Somewhere in the heart of London, somewhere around Baker Street, was a flat. And Somewhere in that flat of 221, up the stairs, through the dark door of B, there was a sofa. On the sofa, there was a man. Not just any man. The most brilliant minded, clever, and devious man in the world. He was also a detective. A consulting detective to be precise. The only one in the world, he'll tell you. Well, he would tell you, if he were not otherwise engaged in trying to smother away a blinding migraine.

"Go. Away."

This is Sherlock Holmes, and he had a headache. Now, for most people, headaches are brought on by many different things. Stress. Lack of sleep. Lack of food. Staying up too late on the computer. The list could go on for awhile. But nobody, or hardly anyone, would say they contracted such a terrible headache from pure boredom. Nobody, except for Sherlock.

"I said go away. You're also not stating that the sensation of a headache is actually caused elsewhere, as your brain does not possess pain sensors itself."

See, with all the brilliance in the mind of a man who remembers facts, such as that, there is almost always going to be a side effect. Sherlock tends to suffer from boredom a lot. Mostly it's his own doing...

"It is not."

It is. As I was saying, most of it is brought on by himself. Whether it be his refusal to take a case less than a five, or his apparent inability to clean up after his experiments, he simply won't do the things that ordinary people would do to take their mind off of being bored.

"But I am not ordinary. So I see no point in..."

Quiet. You have a headache, remember? At any rate, the things that Sherlock Holmes tends to do in order to keep his mind occupied are currently missing. His landlady, Mrs. Hudson, has decided to go on a date with her neighbor and new beau, against Sherlock's better judgment.

"He's got two wives."

And his flatmate, Doctor John Watson, is currently doing the shopping. One of many things Sherlock refuses to do. A trip to his second favorite place, the morgue at St. Bart's hospital, is also out of the question, as his favorite pathologist has kicked him out for trying to steal a human foot.

"I did steal it, she was clever and called me back in with the promise of coffee and more lab access."

His flatmate's insistence that he give up smoking, cold turkey, has also left Sherlock to be very disgruntled company. And unfortunately, without anyone around to cater to him, he also has no coffee to drink, which seems to be the only other staple in his diet. Sadly, this now leaves Mr. Holmes completely alone and without his usual comforts.

"Well, you're here."

Yes, but you already stated that I am to go away, so that's not really helping you, is it?

"It could, actually. You could go to the Yard, tell Lestrade I need a case. An eight...no...nine, at least. Double homicide, maybe even a triple if he's got one."

Headaches cause a lot of people to feel the need to wish death upon others. Sherlock is no exception in this case.

"Shut up. Go and find me a case."

Yes, I'll do just that. Because you lying on the sofa for the past four hours, whining about the stupidity of everyone, including myself, has inspired me to suddenly start helping you. Perhaps I should go to see Lestrade,

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

And tell him to send Anderson round for a visit. I know how much you love seeing him.

"You wouldn't dare."

I would, and I will, if you don't stop being such a petulant little boy about this and just do something. Anything at all.

"Fine."

Ah, see. Now was getting off the sofa really that difficult? Where are you going? Do not go lie down on John's bed, that's not any better for productivity, Sherlock!

"I'm not lying down anymore. You said I could do anything. I've thought of something 'fun' to do.

Which is?

"This."

**BANG!**

Sherlock! You cannot shoot holes into the wall! Mrs. Hudson will kill you! I'll...

**BANG!**

Sherlock! Stop it! This is not a cure for...

**BANG!**

Fine, fine! I'm going. Goodbye!

**BANG!**

Somewhere in the heart of London, somewhere around Baker Street, was a flat. And Somewhere in that flat of 221, up the stairs, through the dark door of B, there was a wall. In the wall, there were several bullet holes. Put there by the most brilliant minded, clever, and devious man in the world. He was also a detective. A consulting detective to be precise. The only one in the world, he'll tell you. Well, he would tell you, if he were not otherwise engaged in shooting up the place as a way to rid himself of a blinding migraine.

This is Sherlock Holmes, and he is a headache.

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Lol, okay, I cannot begin to tell you how much fun I had with this. I've always wanted to do a narrator/character interactive piece. And I've finally done one! YAY! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this everyone. And shoutout to my dear and darling Day, whom I hope is now feeling a bit better.


End file.
